Wednesday, September 22, 2010

On behalf of the entire state of Minnesota and the entire Vikings nation – I apologize.

I’m fairly certain we told you there was going to be a team when you got here.

And that’s the thing about Minnesotan’s Brett. We’re not really that good at saying anything, that you, well, you know could upset someone or anything.

So (make sure you read that the correct way, loooooong “oooooh”) so, we told you we were going all in this year and we were going all in with you at the helm.

It’s not like we lied.

I mean, “all in” in Minnesota can really mean anything from adding a little extra Durkee French Fried Onions on the top of the Thanksgiving green bean hot dish to electing Jesse Ventura to lead our great state.

So what if “all in” for the Vikes this year happened to be bringing Kendra to Minneapolis in a clever attempt to create enough media buzz in town to get that stadium built? (And as a side note, yes, this is, in fact, the reasonable explanation I’ve crafted in order to convince myself there was some reason to sign Hank Baskett. Just go with it.)

Fact is Brett – you’re here. And you’re still the closest thing to a Super Bowl Championship this town has seen in a long long time.

So what are you supposed to do buddy?

I’ll tell you what you’re supposed to do…

You’re supposed to not give a shit. You’re supposed to not care.

And you’re supposed to, against all odds, and against all critics figure out how to Buttermaker the hell out of this rag tag excuse for a football team we’ve got.

Now I know this is the part of the inspirational letter where I’m supposed to give you the insight into my own life that will really help you get through this next step.

You know, propel you to action in leading us to a Championship.

Yeah. That’s the thing. I totally would have bailed on this shit by now.

True story.

And in fact, I was fairly certain about 30 minutes ago that not only wasn’t I ever going to send you another public letter in the guise of a blog, I was never going to utter your name or the name of the Minnesota Vikings. Ever again.

Ever again.(Work with me Brett. Obviously, I’ve got a drama issue. We get it. Not the point.)

The point is Brett, up until about 30 minutes ago I had given up.

Another lost soul from the frozen North ready to lay down hope and just accept what I’ve heard for so long. The Minnesota Vikings will never have what it takes to win a Super Bowl.

And then a little angel. Ok, not actually an angel, more of this loud mouthed guy I used to work with, again, not the point.

The point is – I asked Jon how to pull out of the tailspin – how to get back to bleeding purple.

And you know what Jon did?

He laid it out. Very simply. In a very non-Minnesotan way. The case for bleeding purple that is.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

And I know you don’t really owe me anything, well I mean aside from eternal gratitude because I’m pretty sure I am at least 74.2% responsible for turning the hearts and minds of the Minnesota people back in your favor.

I digress.

Point is Brett, I need you to sack up a bit.

Moving forward, don't talk to the media about your ankle, injections, vicodin or anything other than your undying passion and drive to get the Minnesota Vikings to Dallas on the 6th of February.

As a matter fact Brett, from here on in don't talk about anything other than your total belief in the fact that this Minnesota Vikings team will be taking the field in Dallas as the NFC representative to Super Bowl XLV.

The team, Minnesota and the world need to hear you now. And to be honest, your heart is worth twice as much as your arm, your ankle or anything else.

We don’t need your skill, we need your strut.

It’s time to stop worrying about whether this season is going to be better than last. And it’s time to stop saying: “I’m just here to have fun”.

Why?

Because you’re Brett Fucking Favre.
That’s why.

I didn’t spent 34 years of my life hating you because you were a Packer. I didn’t hate you because you were a whiny punk who always got favorable calls. And I didn’t even hate you because you ruined at least half the football seasons I can remember.

I hated you because you were better.

And you knew it.

You had nothing to prove last year. So you went out on the field and let the instincts and experiences of the greatest QB to ever play the game take control.

And it was damn near spiritual.

You think you don't have anything to prove this year? Really Brett? Really?

You got more to prove right now than your country boy Wrangler's ass has ever had.

So please, stop thinking about whether or not you can top last season’s numbers and start feeling like the greatest quarterback to ever play the game.

Because that’s what you are.

Stop thinking about last season. And start feeling this season.

Because it’s magic too.

Stop thinking about what your legacy will be and start feeling the legend you already are.

As William Wallace may have put it:

Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you'll live -- at least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!!!

You’re the post-modern Omega Man for the Age of Information. So for the love of purple and gold, turning gray and getting old – let’s Braveheart this shit out of this thing.

And did you see that? Braveheart and Omega Man reference, in one sentence? As my boyfriend Tosh would say, "they said it couldn't be done. And I said, oh yes it can. I just did."